


Take Me Back

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Divorce, F/M, Open Ending, Sexual Content, mention of infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: At the end of it all, Pansy simply just wants to go back to the start.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 104
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: UK Invasion!





	Take Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing Me a Rare: The UK Invasion. Much love to my beta who shall remain nameless until the fest is complete. 
> 
> Song Prompt: The Scientist - Coldplay

**September 2020**

“Sorry about the wait!” 

I drag my attention to the bubbly, busty solicitor who’s bouncing into the room sporting a moth-eaten sweater and too much lipstick. 

  
  


She must be having a good day. Her head is bobbing back and forth to a tune only she can hear and each shuffle of paperwork seems to bring her unprecedented joy. “I’ve got everything ready. After you sign, that’s it!”

What a bitch. 

In her hands is the parchment that will irrevocably end my marriage of two decades and she’s acting like it’s her favorite recipe for treacle tart. 

Rolling my eyes, I begin tapping a single, perfectly manicured nail against the glossy wood table. 

_ Tap. Tap. Tap.  _

Harry sighs. “Would you please stop that?”

Seems a simple enough request, but when I look up at him and see that his eyes are hardened with twenty years of resentment, I find my pity has simply run dry. 

_ Tap. Tap. Tap.  _

A sick joy twists in my stomach at the audible sound of his jaw snapping shut. Oh, the great Harry Potter; he’s positively seething in all that self-righteous indignation, but I won’t take the bait. 

He wants me to fight but he should have learned by now—he took all the fight from me years ago. 

As indifferently as humanly possible, I drop my hand into my lap and stare out the large window overlooking London. The rain is relentless, beating against the pavement so fiercely it’s almost like a punishment from the heavens. 

Wistfully, I wonder if maybe the gods are mourning the loss of love. 

I snort, ignoring the way it garners the attention of the two people across from me. If I’d half a mind, I’d march into Hogwarts this afternoon and round up each and every doe-eyed girl and  _ thwap _ them on the head each time their gaze journeyed to a handsome boy with pretty eyes in a Quidditch jersey. 

They’re trouble. 

They leave you hollowed out and broken—bleeding. 

Metaphorically, of course. 

Because literally they leave you on your twentieth wedding anniversary over a bottle of expensive Merlot. In reality, they left long before that.

“Such a shame,” the solicitor says, clucking her tongue in the first facade of contrition for the job she’s doing. “I remember when you two married, you know. I might still have the  _ Witch Weekly _ special releases leading up to it.” 

My lip curls. I prefer her ignorant and bouncing in her chair. “Yes,” I mutter under my breath, dragging my gaze back to the window. “A real shame.” 

A few moments later and the twit passes a parchment to my husband—when do I stop calling him that? What does he become when I sign that scrap of parchment?

I suppose then he'll be just another stranger. Someone I used to know. 

As he picks up the quill and dips it in the ebony ink, my breath hitches. 

I wish it wouldn’t. 

Wish I was stronger. But a treacherous tear forms at my lash line and he must still be able to feel my hurt. His emerald eyes shoot up, catching mine, and for a moment, we aren’t here at all. 

We’re still back in the rubble and ruins of Hogwarts, looking for any reason to fall in love. 

But it’s fleeting, as love always is, and the sound of the nib scratching against heavy parchment pushes that tear past the brink as it slides tragically down my cheek. 

With a furious breath, I swipe it from existence and hold my hand out for the quill. Our fingers brush and a dull magic flares to life at the simple touch. It used to set our skin on fire and keep us awake until dawn but now it’s barely a wisp. A lingering tendril that doesn’t know how to die. 

Harry flicks his wrist and the paper glides across the table. His signature is there—  _ it’s really there. _

I knew it would be but nothing prepares you for the physical evidence that your marriage is irreparably broken. 

Thinning my lips, I hover the quill over the line I’m meant to mark. A thousand memories float around the edges of my mind. 

How did we get here? Certainly there was a catalyst at some point, a right when we should’ve gone left, an opportunity missed. 

If I’d recognized it then, would it have changed anything? 

“Are you okay?” Harry’s voice is timid and quiet, like I’m a wounded animal he’s afraid of startling. 

He might be right. 

But despite myself, my water logged gaze lifts and what I need to see is already etched into the fine lines of his face. He’s hurting. 

And maybe that makes me a sick sort of person, to need him to hurt.

But I need it like air. 

I need to know he mourns us too. 

Pressing the quill to the parchment I begin to sign: .  _ Pansy Po— _

A spurt of ink splashes as I make an abrupt stop on the second letter of my surname. “Bollocks.” 

“What is it?” the solicitor asks, rising to her feet to peek at my mistake. 

“I signed the wrong name. I’ll be reverting back to Parkinson.” 

She seems genuinely confused as her eyes flutter around the room and then, with a shrug, she offers the most inane solution. “Just make a line down from the O so it’s an A and continue to sign. It’ll be fine, dear.” 

_ It’ll be fine, dear _ . 

She further solidifies my knowledge that she is a certifiable idiot. As if what I’m really worried about is a slip of the fucking hand. It’s what it represents—it’s who I’m going to be now. 

I’ve been someone’s wife for twenty years. 

But as I make her stupid correction and finish my signature, I realize I’m not anymore. 

I belong to no one. 

My breath is broken, fingers tracing over my lips in vain, like I can keep the sobs inside by sheer force. 

It’s done. 

I’m divorced. 

And somehow, even after everything, I just want to go back to the start. 

  
  


**May 1998**

  
  


Sweat drips down my brow. 

_ Disgusting. _

I’ve dirt caked under my fingernails, and I don’t even want to know the nature of the nest on my head that used to be an elegant bob. Merlin, trade the dirt for ink and I’d practically be Hermione Granger.

Arthur Weasley, the bumbling fool, has somehow been put in charge of repairing the bridge. And I, by some twisted turn of fate, was assigned to his team. 

I’d turn and walk off this godsforsaken land right now if it wasn’t for the fact that I need Interim Headmistress McGonagall’s coveted letter of recommendation if I want to transfer to Illvermony this autumn. 

“On my count!” the senior Weasel bellows. 

Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I ready my stance and grip my wand, pointing it at a large pillar that needs to miraculously be upright if it’s going to be capable of supporting more than a pygmy puff. 

Across the circle, emerald eyes lock onto mine. It’s brief—fleeting. 

His attention is on the stone in front of us and I force mine there too, blinking away from the tug of magic that wants me to look at him all over again. 

* * *

Lunch is delivered by elves down to the grounds. Nothing fancy, sandwiches and crisps, lemonade and water. 

All these years at Hogwarts, I’ve had a family. From the time I rolled across the Black Lake at eleven years old, I always knew there was a place for me. 

Now, sitting on a patch of grass cradling a soggy turkey sandwich, I realize just how woefully alone I am. 

I’ll be alone at Ilvermorny too, but that will be different. I’ll have possibilities there. I won’t have a shitty reputation as the girl who followed too many boys into broom cupboards there. I won’t be the girl who yelled ‘someone grab him’ there. 

There, I will simply be Pansy. 

A shadow drops to my side next to me and I balk to discover that the Chosen One, in all his scruffy glory, has descended into my space. 

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs, unwrapping his lunch and then leaning back on one hand as he tears a corner of crust away with his teeth. 

“I  _ said _ , what are you doing?”

“Eating. You should recognize it. You’re doing it too.” His lips quirk in a crooked smile and I don’t hate it—which makes me hate it. 

_ “Obviously.  _ I mean, what are you doing eating here?”

“You probably mean to ask  _ why _ am I eating here.” 

I snort and drop my sandwich down on the paper wrappings. “You’ve been spending too much time with Granger.” 

“You’re telling me.” 

Disbelief makes my jaw fall open and I can’t help but gawk at him. There’s amusement wrinkling his eyes and he seems inoffensive, at least as much as a Gryffindor can be. 

Some unknown emotion flickers over Potter’s face as he takes another bite. I watch in studious curiosity as the taut tendons of his throat flex with a swallow. “I just thought you looked lonely. Thought I’d sit next to you.” 

Sniffing, I sit to full height and peer down my nose at him. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not lonely,” I lie. “Don’t even know the meaning of the word.” 

Potter rolls his eyes but seems otherwise unaffected by my annoyance. That’s a first. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you mean  _ why _ ?”

A throaty chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat and he rolls his gaze over to mine. He’s more handsome than I remember, I realize, and then quickly banish the thought. “Sure. Why are you at Hogwarts? I admit, I’m more than surprised to see you helping with the rebuilding.”

“Why are you so surprised?” I snap. “Because you thought I’d be off at a Death Eater Junior revel?”

_ “No.”  _ He draws the word out and no matter how prickly I am, it doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. “Just that you never really took me as someone who enjoyed voluntary manual labor during your summer holidays.” 

Some of my icy exterior melts infinitesimally and my shoulders slacken. “Oh. Well, I’m going to Illverymony in the autumn. At least, I will be if I can get the proper references from the staff here, and they apparently want to see me making an effort. So, I’m here. Making a blasted effort.” 

“Ilvermorny? That’s far.”

Sighing, I pick up my sandwich again and nibble on the edge. “I’d go farther if I could. I hate it here.” From the corner of my vision, I can see him shake his head and swallow a laugh. “What’s so funny, Potter?”

“Nothing, Parkinson. Nothing at all.” He nods off into the distance where the broad backed Weasley is waving at him. “See you around.” 

As he collects his lunch and leaves, I find a strange and unwelcome flutter in my belly. “See you.” 

* * *

Panting, I nearly double over when I reach the top step of the Astronomy Tower. 

He’s there already, silhouetted against the ambient light of the moon as he stares out across the rolling hills of the Scottish Highlands. 

“There you are,” I grumble, rounding the armillary sphere. My fingers trail over the worn railings as I finally catch my breath. “Why on earth did you want to meet here, Potter? You do know I have to come from the  _ dungeons _ , don’t you? It’s practically torture—” I cease my rambling when I see the familiar, defeated hunch to his shoulders. 

Becoming friends with Potter was stupid; he has far too much baggage. I didn’t let that stop me, though. I draw up next to him and his hand curls around mine. 

Even in the dim starlight I can see the tears coating his cheeks and my lips twist in pain for him. “Bad night?”

“Not any worse than the others.” Potter offers me a weak smile and his hand falls away as he moves to lean against the stone wall. “Sorry to make you climb all the way up here. I forget not everyone has the same physical prowess I do.” 

He always does this. Tries to make light of a situation to save my feelings.  _ “Hah, hah _ ,” I deadpan, reaching out to pinch at his stomach for good measure. 

“So,” I say, leaning over the railing, “What just couldn’t wait til morning?”

“You’ll be leaving soon,” he says, not a question. 

I loosen a long breath and a grin stretches over my lips. “Portkey is set for tomorrow afternoon. Finally, I’ll be away from all this.” 

Briefly, I wonder if his tears were him lamenting my imminent exodus from England, but before I can allow that possibility to sink in, I banish it. It’s too dangerous.

“You’ll come and visit,” I say reassuringly, even though I don’t believe it either.

“I’ll miss you.” His confession is quiet, barely there. I wonder if I really heard it but then he steps towards me and cradles my cheeks in his large hands. 

I blink once. Twice. Trying to make sense of the way he’s looking at me because over these past few weeks he’s never once looked at me quite like this. At least, not that I ever noticed. 

“Potter, what are you—” 

He cuts me off, “I need to say something. Just once.” 

“O-okay.” 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a bit anticlimactic and my brows tug together in confusion before he continues, “I’m sorry that I never saw you before this summer. I think—if there were some way to go back—I think I would have done a thousand things differently. Because, I know you’re tetchy and kinda cynical, but I _ kinda _ like you anyway. I know you hate it when I make you laugh but—I can’t help it because I love the sound of your laugh… even if you’re just laughing at me.” 

My mind is racing, trying to chew on the confession he’s laying bare, but it can’t be true because he’s Potter and I’m Parkinson and the list of reasons we can’t be together is far longer than the reasons we should. 

His hands fall from my face and I want to cast a sticking charm and make them stay there for the rest of my life, because every girl deserves to be looked at the way he’s looking at me at least once in their life. 

“And that’s all,” he says with a thick swallow. “I just wanted you to know… You don’t know how lovely you are.”

His lashes flutter closed and he’s about to turn away from me. My body acts suddenly and of its own accord. My fingers curl into his thin shirt and pull him back to me—back to where he belongs—and I kiss him until I’m breathless. Kiss him until our bodies are tangled on the floor of the Astronomy Tower and I’m yanking his belt free. 

His mouth pulls sharply away and he rests his forehead against mine. “Pansy, I—maybe this is too fast.” 

Confusion twists my features because I’m fairly sure he’s the only boy who’s wanted to slow things down in the history of Hogwarts. Pushing up on my elbows, I stare up at him with a curious brow. “You don’t want-” 

“No!” he rushes, shaking his head so violently his messy fringe falls over his brow. “Of course I do.” I’m still not convinced, and he must be able to tell because he rocks his hips into the apex of my thighs and I can feel the evidence of his assurances against my core. “ _ Trust me, _ I do.” 

“Then what’s the problem? It’s not like I’m a virgin.” His features pinch and I realize my mistake like a bludger to the head. I might not be… but he is. “Oh, bollocks. I’m… I’m sorry, Potter. That was thoughtless.” 

He shakes his head and rolls off me, panting up at the painted ceiling. “You’re leaving tomorrow and it’s not like I’ll be any good at it, anyway. I really don’t want your last memory to be of me—well, you know.” 

A slow smile stretches over my lips as I sit up and throw my leg on the far side of his hips, straddling him. I tug my blouse over my head, my hair spilling over my from the fabric and I can’t help but commit the sight of his awed expression to my memory. 

“Fuck,” he breaths, his eyes widening almost comically behind his crooked glasses. 

I finish the hasty job I’d started on his belt and slide my hand into his pants, watching as his face transforms in pleasure. Silently, I’m impressed by the length in my hands and when I pull him free from his trousers, my eyes widen just slightly. 

Swallowing, I look up to see him looking abashed and I have to laugh. “Don’t worry, Potter. With a cock like that you’ll be better than you think.” 

Rising up on my knees, I hike my skirt up and pull my knickers to the side, quickly arranging him at my entrance and sliding his tip through my wet folds. The noise he makes as his hands shoot up to grip my hips is the single most lovely sound I’ve ever heard. 

As slowly as I can manage, I swallow the length of him, my own mouth falling open at the feeling of him stretching me. Under me, he’s muttering a string of expletives and his fingers dig almost painfully into my hips. 

I keep my movements slow, steady. Rolling my hips again and again as he loses himself in this quiet moment. Under my fingers, I can feel his torso tightening. 

I lie over him, pressing my stomach against his, as my fingers push through his wild hair. “It’s okay, Harry. You can just let go.” 

His arms band around my waist, pulling me tighter. “Say it again.” 

“You can—” 

“No,” he grunts. “My name.” 

I smile into the crook of his neck.  _ “Harry.” _   
  
When his body is still and I know he’s spent himself inside me, I fall to the side and curl against him, listening to the steady thrumming of his heart. 

“Maybe I’ll stay a bit longer,” I whisper. “Term doesn’t start for a few weeks. Maybe I’ll stay.” 

His lips brush against my forehead and he pulls me closer. “I’d like that.” 

**January 2000**

The music is slow and entrancing, lilting through the air, mixing with the delicate floating fairy lights as we twirl in the middle of a small dance floor. My brand new husband is looking at me the way he’s looked at me every single day since that fated night in the Astronomy Tower. 

“Have I told you I love you?” he asks, pressing a small kiss to the tip of my nose. 

Humming, I pinch my features to one side. “Not in the last half hour, at least.” 

He grins slowly and we make another rotation in each other's arms. “I’m remiss, then, wife, because I love you.” 

Playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, secretly pleased he let it grow out a bit the way I like, I wonder how on earth I got so incredibly lucky. 

His hand falls to the gentle swell of my belly, fingers splaying as the little one in my womb kicks him away. “I swear,” he says from the corner of his mouth, “he doesn’t like me already. How is it possible he doesn’t like me?”

A few other couples filter on the dance floor, our friends and family, gathered to celebrate our union—although, some are doing so begrudgingly at best. 

“ _ She _ adores you. She’s just saying ‘hi’.” 

He seems unconvinced but returns his gaze to mine. “Do you have any regrets? About Ilvermorny or leaving London?”

In the haze of our newly wedded bliss and the shimmering future awaiting me and my husband, I shake my head. “Absolutely not.” 

**November 2001**

Each step is slow. Purposeful. Precise. 

I’ve learned this blasted house. I know the steps that creak and the steps that scream. And I swear to every god listening, if this house wakes my baby from her nap, I will burn the entire thing down. Ancestral or not. 

Carefully, like she’s a stack of Whizzbangers, I lower Lily into her crib and slowly back away. Lips pulled into a nervous grimace, I retreat from the room and tiptoe down the hall to where my freshly laundered sheets beckon to me. 

A nap. 

Merlin, I need a nap. 

Downstairs, the Floo roars to life and I freeze. Begging the universe to  _ for once _ allow my husband a quiet entrance. 

Should’ve known better.

“Darling! I’m home!” he bellows. 

Each of his steps up the stairs thunders through the otherwise quiet house and no sooner is he on the landing, a paper wrapped bouquet of wildflowers in the crook of his arm and a grin on his face, than our sweet Lily Luna lets out a piercing wail. 

His entire body sags dejectedly. “Was she asleep?”

I cross my arms, eyebrow arching in the most threatening sneer I can manage. “Yes.” 

With a long breath, he hands me the flowers and trudges down the hall. 

As he peeks in the room, a genuine smile forms for his favorite girl in the world. I bring the flowers to my nose and inhale, unable to hide my smile either. 

I’ve never been fond of losing a man’s attention to another girl—this is my only exception. 

**December 2005**

I stub my toe on the skirting board that has for some reason decided it no longer wants to be a part of the rest of the house and now juts out into the hallway. 

“Fuck,” I hiss, bouncing on one foot and cradling my injured one with my hand. 

_ “Fuck.”  _

My eyes flutter closed. Dammit all, Harry is going to kill me if she keeps swearing. I turn slowly and find my wild-haired daughter grinning at me from the end of the hall with that ridiculous stuffed lion tucked under her arm. 

“You’re not supposed to say that.” 

Her grin widens. “Neither are you.” 

Standing to full height, I narrow my gaze at my tiny little adversary. “So, I suppose we both don’t tell daddy, then?”

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug. “How about a lolly?”

“No lollies before dinner.” 

_ “Fu—”  _

Growling, I lift my hands in supplication. “I don’t care how many lion toys your father and his ridiculous friends buy you, Lily Luna. You are _all_ Slytherin.” 

I scoop her up in my arms, touching the tip of her little pug nose with my finger before trudging down the hall in search of a lolly. 

That’s how Harry finds us. Lily sitting on the edge of the counter and me leaning next to her, both of us with red lollies in our mouth and our eyes wide at the surprise of him arriving home early. 

His features fall as he drops his bag on the floor. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” we say in perfect unison. 

“Uh huh.” Harry crosses the room and settles in front of me, his eyes sparkling in mischief as he pulls the lolly from my mouth and pops it into his own. “Did mummy swear again?”

Lily nods and I can’t help but gawk at the treacherous little child of mine. I’m quickly distracted when Harry’s mouth dips towards mine. I can taste the cherry sugar on his lips when he kisses me, despite Lily kicking at us and screaming her displeasure at our affection. 

When he pulls away, I lock my wrists around his neck and pout. “It’s not my fault, I hate this house. I keep telling you and you won’t listen.” 

His thick brows knit, lips twisting in amusement. “Won’t I?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Are you?”

I glower. “You are so frustrating.” 

“Am—” 

I press a finger against his lips and scowl. “Don’t press your luck.” 

With a crooked smile, he reaches into his trouser pockets and offers me a keyring. 

Gasping, I snatch them from his hand and stare down at them. “You didn’t.” 

“That one in the country you keep dropping not-so-subtle hints about? It’s ours.” Disbelief and joy floods my chest. 

“But how?” 

He shrugs, kisses my cheek and then lifts Lily from the counter, settling her on his hip. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

My fingers close around the brass keys and I breathe a sigh of relief. Because Merlin, I hate this house.

  
  


**April 2006**

Marching around the great room, I snatch up every spare toy and article of clothing like it’s personally offended me. Harry follows me around, trying in vain to drag me back into an argument I’m far past having. 

“We’ve already talked about it, Harry.” 

“Yes, well, I’d like to talk about it again.” 

I stop, dead in my tracks and reel on him. “Well,  _ I  _ wouldn’t. Lily is eight years old. I’m not starting all over again.” 

“It wouldn’t be starting all over again, Pans. You do understand it’d be a  _ different _ kid, right?” 

I feign shock and surprise. “Is that so?” I splay my fingers over my chest, clutching at my proverbial pearls. “Why, I hadn’t considered that! It’s not like I’m the one who has to bloody carry and birth your nine-pound, big headed children.” 

With a quick, withering sneer, I turn back to continue collecting up the mess before giving up, dropping the basket and casting the spell that will do it for me. 

“We could adopt—” 

“ _ No!”  _ I can feel the angry blush covering my skin and I pinch the bridge of my nose to try and calm my escalating temper. “I said  _ no.  _ Having a baby means that my life starts back to where I was when I was eighteen. More nappies, more sleepless nights—” 

“What else are you going to do, Pans?” The tension between us shifts and my anger dissipates in an instant, replaced by deep, guttural hurt. “Shit,” he says under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Sneering at him, I take a dangerous step forward. “Isn’t it, though? I gave up everything for you, Potter—” 

“I never asked you to.” 

“You say you didn’t, but you did. I stayed for  _ you.  _ But I was still supposed to do something with my life!” 

He scoffs, his face twisting into an ugly version of him that I barely recognize. “What, Lily and I aren’t good enough for you?” 

“You’re not,” I say plainly. “I love you both with all my heart, but I need more. I need something for me and having a baby right now means that I won’t have that. So I need you to understand that I  _ can’t _ do it again. And furthermore, I need you to stop harassing me about it.” 

Dragging a rough hand through his hair, he bites back whatever vitriol wants to come spewing out. “I didn’t sign on for only one child, Pansy. You never told me.” 

He hasn’t said anything all that alarming but it slams into me like the Knight Bus. What if I’d known? What if I’d told him? Would he have left me? 

“What do you want from me?” I ask. Every ounce of fight has drained from my body. 

He runs his tongue over his teeth and forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, Pansy. I officially want nothing from you.” 

  
  


**October 2007**

  
  


_ Mrs. Potter,  _

_ We are so pleased that you’re interested in applying for the Central Department of the Ministry of Magic and greatly enjoyed reading your cover letter and your aspirations for your future career.  _

_ Unfortunately, all of our current positions require N.E.W.T. level qualifications. If a lower level position opens up, we will happily submit your application to the proper department.  _

_ Best,  _

_ H. Deckler _

_ Central Department Supervisor _

  
  


**February 2008**

_ Mrs. Potter,  _

_ Thank you for your interest in a career at  _ Witch Weekly _.  _

_ While your reputation precedes you and your sample work is well composed, we unfortunately require N.E.W.T. level— _

I crumple the parchment and throw it in the rubbish bin. 

With a lazy hand, I flick my wrist at the contents. “ _ Incendio.” _

**September 2011**

My stomach is in knots as I force a smile on my face. “You’ll be brilliant, my little Slytherin,” I manage, voice trembling as I fuss with her father’s red and gold scarf around her neck that she insists on wearing for goodluck. “Write as much as you want and I’ll send you care packages every month. Christmas will be here before you know it and—” 

Harry’s hand comes down on my shoulder, squeezing gently as Lily rolls her eyes. “Mum, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

A crooked smile pulls at her cheek. “Promise.”

Her arms close around my waist and I take the moment to memorize the smell of her hair and the exact height she is right at this moment. My heart fissures when she pulls away. 

Too soon she’s galloping aboard the train, excitedly finding her place with the people who will become her new family, taking a sliver of my heart along with her. I feel emptier now that it’s gone. A hollow that can only be filled by her. 

Tears slip freely over my cheeks and I wonder if I’ve ever felt love like this. I’ve loved her every minute of every day of her life, but it feels louder now that it will need to stretch across the miles and miles of British countryside that will separate us.

“She’s right, you know,” Harry says, pressing his lips to my temple. “She’ll be just fine.” 

The Hogwarts Express screams as it pulls away from the platform. 

“I know. But what about me?”

  
  


**April 2012**

“Harry!” I nearly trip through the floo, his name already on my lips as I scan the room for signs of life. 

Lily is there, a little Quidditch figurine floating in lazy circles around her as she reads her coursework.

“Is dad home?” 

Humming, she points towards his den and I take off like a snitch. “Harry? Oh, there you are. You’ll never believe it—” 

“Hi, love.” His eyes are trained on a stack of parchments but he slowly rolls his gaze to mine and offers me a weak smile. “How was Diagon Alley?”

“I ran into Hermione,” I say, breath still evading me as I pant out the simple words. 

He pulls a placating face and turns back to his work. “That’s nice. We should have them over for dinner soon, it’s been awhile.” 

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air and stomp over to him, twisting his chair back to face me. “She has a job for me.” 

Harry blinks at me, brows furrowing. “A job?” 

“Yes! Her assistant got a promotion and she needs someone to help coordinate her schedule. She offered me the job right on the spot,” I rush, words tumbling so quickly past one another I can see he’s struggling to follow. 

“Really?”

“ _ Yes. _ Really! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Gnawing on his lip, he rises to his feet, pushing his hands in his trouser pockets. “That’s exciting, Pans. Really.” 

His lack of enthusiasm deflates my happiness in an instant. Over the years, I’ve never asked for anything like this. I raised our daughter. I supported my husband as he climbed from Junior Auror to his current position, the one that will land him Head Auror after Robards steps down. 

I have gushed over every case, every accomplishment. 

My gaze floats over his face and I find it’s a stranger looking back at me. I leave the room with sharp, punishing stomps, ignoring him as he mutters to himself under his breath and falls into his desk chair again. 

**December 2014**

“Do we  _ have _ to go?” Harry groans from the bed where he is lying out over the mattress with an arm tossed over his face. 

Emerging from the master wardrobe while securing the backing of my earring in place, I can’t help but smile at my husband. He really does hate a tux. 

“Yes,  _ both _ of us. Hermione needs me—” 

Another groan, this time as he sits up on the edge, shoulders slumped. “ _ Hermione _ . You know, it used to be that I needed you and got all your attention. Now it’s all about  _ Hermione.”  _

Smiling to myself, I come up to stand between his knees, palms resting on his cheeks to pull his face up to mine. “Come now, don’t be jealous. Hermione doesn’t get  _ all  _ the perks of my attention.”

Harry makes a disgruntled noise, pouting like a petulant little child. 

“She won’t get to know I’m not wearing any knickers under this fancy dress you paid too much for.” 

His gaze darkens. “I think you’re distracting me from the cost of the dress with the knickers comment.” 

With a giggle, I bend over to kiss his forehead. “Is it working?”

In a single fluid movement, he tosses me on the bed, crawling over me as a knee settles between my thighs. “Possibly.” 

Moments like this—when he’s still playful, when the worry and pressure of his job aren’t suffocating his every thought—he’s still my Harry. Still the man I fell in love with. 

He kisses me, hands curling around my hip and I’m very seriously about to be late to this stupid Christmas gala when a small  _ ehem _ pulls us violently apart. 

“You two are disgusting,” Lily scolds, eyes narrowed at us. 

Harry huffs and falls on his back, his pout back in full force. Laughing, I scurry off the bed and guide Lily from the room, hollering for Harry to hurry lest we be late. 

  
  
  


**September 2015**

“Harry, I need to go.” 

“You don’t,” he retorts, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. “You keep saying you  _ need _ to do these things but you don’t. 

“I do! I need it for me! You don’t understand. You’ve always had time for you and your career. Your time has always been your own. I’m getting a late bloody start and this trip could mean a promotion, a job beyond just coordinating another grown woman’s schedule.”

Dragging a hand through his hair, he stomps to the drink cupboard and pours himself a sloppy tumbler of firewhisky. “It’s three months, Pansy. You’re going to just leave for three bloody months? What about—” 

“What about  _ what _ , Harry? There is nothing here for me. Lily’s at school and—” 

“And me? I’m nothing, now?” 

The fire in my fight flickers, and my shoulders fall. “I can’t have you be my everything. I need more.” 

My dear husband looks at me like he’s never seen me a day in his life, like he thought I’d be content to be Molly bloody Weasley for the rest of my days. How can’t he see this?

How can’t he see me?

“When did you get so selfish?” he breathes, a sad shake to his head as he turns for the fire. 

The low-blow insult is so delicately delivered it’s like a needle between my ribs, piercing just the right spot in my heart. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I bite out before turning to the stairs. 

He won’t come to bed tonight. He’ll fall asleep on the sofa like he does almost every night. 

I wonder when I stopped caring. 

**April 2015**

His breath is hard and panting in my ear as my nails dig into his shoulders. 

The passion between us is so lackluster I’m not sure if either of us want to be tangled in these bedsheets, but it’s been three months since I’ve been home and it feels like something we really ought to do. 

Each thrust expands the hollow inside me and I can feel him chasing his release just to get it over with. 

Finally, he rolls off me, sweaty and finding his breath. 

I don’t mention the lipstick on his collar or the smell of unfamiliar perfume on my pillowcase. I don’t mention the way he couldn’t look at me even when buried inside me. 

I can’t blame him for seeking out a remedy to the loneliness. God knows we’ve been lonely a lot longer than three months. 

**November 2017**

“I don’t know what you want me to say—” He clicks his tongue as he drains his whisky and marches about the room. 

“I want you to admit you’ve been fucking that receptionist! You think I’m stupid? I work in the same fucking building Harry!” 

Rolling his eyes, he puts the glass down with too much force and sneers at me. “Stop being so dramatic.” 

He turns to leave and I freeze where I stand, stocking-clad feet sinking into the expensive plush as I watch the tension in his shoulders rise. 

“Just say it,” I plead. “Put me out of my misery.” 

He pauses, chin tilting towards the ceiling as he releases a long, drawn out breath. “Yes, okay? I’m sleeping with her.” 

I knew it. Knew it beyond a reasonable doubt and still the confession slams into me with all the ill timing of a wayward hippogriff. I double over, breath coming in sharp pants and soon his hands are curling around my shoulders, dragging me into his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, fingers gently patting my hair as he repeats his sentiments of remorse again and again and again. “It won’t happen again. It was stupid, and I was mad at you but it’s over. I love you. I’m sorry.” 

I cling to him, my rock in the hurricane, because as much as I hate him in this moment, he’s the only thing keeping me here. 

**May 2018**

“So,” the therapist begins, a hopeful smile on her pretty face. “How was this week? Did you do your homework?”

I visibly flinch and Harry squirms in his seat. We’re trying. Merlin, we’re trying. 

If there was ever a couple who had fought so relentlessly to be in love, it’s us. We’re too stubborn to walk away now, to start over. 

But I don’t see him anymore and when he sees me, I’m not sure he likes the person I’ve become. 

“It’s been a busy week,” I say apologetically. “I’ve gotten another promotion and I’m transferring out of my old position so—” I swallow the knot of guilt in my vocal cords. “Homework wasn’t a forethought this week.” 

Dr. Hollis scribbles notes on her parchment and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Congratulations on your promotion,” she says absently and then focuses on Harry. “What about you?”

I’d have felt guilty about not completing my homework but I know he hasn’t either. Or at least, I thought he hadn't until I see him pulling a small scrap of paper from his pocket and unfolding it with great care. 

He leans forward and that defeated hunch to his shoulders is back. The one I used to know from a lifetime ago. 

“Right, well—” He clears his throat and then begins properly. “I think she’s a good mum, brilliant really. She’s a hard worker and clever. She’s funny—kinda.” His lips twitch into a crooked smile at a long forgotten private joke but it’s quickly gone again. “And, I like her laugh.” 

More notes from the good doctor as she writes down the short list of reasons my husband still loves me. At least he had a list to bring today. 

“Pansy, how does that make you feel?” Both sets of eyes travel to me and I’m frozen, my mind churning over nothing as I grasp on tendrils of thought, trying to force them into a single coherent sentence. 

I settle for the truth. “I don’t know.” 

“Does anything come to mind for you? What do you love about Harry?”

My stomach plummets and I can feel the pressure of this moment squeezing around my neck in a vice grip. 

I settle for the truth again. “I don’t know.” 

**January 2020**

My mouth puckers as the heaviness of the red wine settles over my tongue. With precise movements that have been ingrained in me since childhood, I cut a thin slice of filet mignon and bring it to my lips. 

Twenty years of marriage.

They went faster than I’d have thought. Some of our classmates didn’t even get twenty years of their own and I’ve had them with one other person. 

Not all the years were bad. As I chew on my steak, I think of the early days at Grimmauld and Lily’s first steps on that creaking floor. I think of the night we moved into the new house and made love on the kitchen counter with an empty bottle of wine rolling around us. 

I think about when he looked at me like I was his, and my world revolved around him. I think about when I used to look at him like that too. 

We’ll get it back. 

I know it.

Now that Lily is older and I have a career I’m proud of. This will be the golden age of our marriage. 

We’ve been running in circles all these years and finally, we can just stay awhile together. Know each other again. 

Filling my lungs with a peaceful breath, I reach for my wine and am ready to toast the next twenty years together. 

“I want a divorce.” 

The air around me pulses, a hostile beast that wants to close in around me. 

The hopes and regrets inside me crash together in a violent storm but outside I am the girl I’ve always been. I swallow the bile inching up my throat and set my wine back down. 

“Okay.” 

**September 2020**

“Well,” the solicitor says, stacking the papers into a single tidy pile, “That’s it! You’re divorced.” 

The words make me feel ill, and I stand in a daze, the room spinning just slightly. 

Harry rises, buttoning his suit jacket as he does. “Can you give us a moment please?”

“Of course, Mister Potter. If you need anything at all, I’ll be just down the hall.” 

My hands fall to the table, trying to ground myself as the pounding London rain drowns out my reality. Absently, I can hear him moving around the room. He leans his bum against the table and I can feel his eyes on me—I can’t stand to look back at him. 

“Are you okay?”

“No.” 

“Yeah.” He drags a hand down his face, pausing to scratch at that blasted beard I hate so much. “Me neither. No one said this was going to be easy.” 

Sucking in a full breath, I stand tall and blink away the tears that want to drag me under. “Yeah, well, no one said it would be _ this _ hard.” 

“I’m sorry, Pansy. For everything.” 

Slowly, I manage to meet his gaze and for a moment, we’re just us again. Apologizing for the bullshit we put each other through when we were kids, ready to fall in love at the slightest provocation and rush into adulthood with full force. 

“Me too,” I whisper, my lips thinning into a line as I fight the torrent of tears. “I’d do it differently, if I could.” 

That familiar lopsided smile returns and he takes me in his arms, my cheek resting on his chest as I listen to the steady thrumming of his heartbeat for the last time. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

* * *

_ Tell me you love me _

_ Come back and haunt me _

_ Oh, and I rush to the start _

_ Running in circles, chasing our tails _

_ Coming back as we are _

_ Nobody said it was easy _

_ Oh, it's such a shame for us to part _

_ Nobody said it was easy _

_ No one ever said it would be so hard _

_ I'm going back to the start _

_ The Scientist by Coldplay _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
